La Melodiosa
by velvetmornings
Summary: A series of unconnected Bonnie Bennett/Damon Salvatore (Bamon) one-shots. [3] The one where Bonnie and Damon are cops and Bonnie's feelings are anything but professional. [4] The one where Bonnie's in the hospital and Damon rushes to her aid.
1. Speaking of nirvana, it was there

The one where it's post-1994 and Damon misses Bonnie just a little too much.

* * *

Maybe it was because he got buzzed from too much bourbon, or because he had gotten so used to his 1994 mattress. Whatever the case, Damon wasn't sleeping well.

Most nights, he would wake up in a start, _swearing_ he could feel the heat of Bonnie's body beside him. And he would reach out, fingers splayed out on the comforter seeking whatever warmth her skin had left on the cotton.

He was always met with cold sheets.

Although reluctant to admit it, Damon had been the one to insist that Bonnie and him sleep in the same bed back in 1994.

The first few times were accidents. They had formed a routine (unintentionally) that after they were tired of playing the board game of the day, they'd lay out on his bed and just _talked_. Sometimes Bonnie would paint her nails, or read her grimoire, or absently play with his hair as he spoke. Until eventually Bonnie couldn't keep her eyes open long enough and drifted to sleep. Her body pressed up against his, head on his shoulder, and he would try his hardest not to move as to not wake her. And end up falling asleep himself.

It wasn't until one night she awoke, gasping and murmuring about how she needed to go to her own bed, already stumbling off of the edge to make her way to the door.

 _"God, I'm so embarrassing. I'm_ drooling _on you. How do you put up with me? Why didn't you vamp-speed me to my—"_

 _"Bon..."_

 _She turned around, her green eyes hazy with sleep, but somehow sharp as ever and replied, "What?"_

 _It took more courage than it should've, but Damon licked his lips, met her gaze and managed, "...Stay."_

He didn't regret it though, because the feel of her there was a constant reminder that he wasn't _alone_ in that place—his own personal hell.

The more he thinks about it though, the more it felt like the opposite.

Now he was back in the real world, and without Bonnie it might as well _be_ hell. _Real_ hell. Maybe there aren't any fiery pits or pitchforks, but he was suffering without her and that was enough.

Elena had chalked it up to separation anxiety.

 _"You spent four months with her. You're bound to feel strange that she's not around."_

 _She had wrapped her arm around his shoulders, rubbing her hand down the length of his arm in an attempt to comfort him. To Damon though, it might as well have been a ghost. He hadn't felt it. He wasn't comforted by her touch anymore._

 _"You're making me sound like a puppy that panic-pees every time it's owner leaves the room." He replied, dragging his hand down his face in exasperation._

 _Elena tilted her head back in mock-contemplation, "Well not a terrible comparison considering you're_ almost _as cute as a puppy."_

When he had gotten back he had expected that when he saw Elena he would feel different—complete. Instead the hole in his chest couldn't have felt any bigger.

After a cocktail of emotions from Elizabeth Forbes' funeral (and several _literal_ cocktails later), Damon stumbles through the threshold of the Salvatore boarding house.

Funerals usually didn't affect him, he didn't allow them to. But this one had left him with the bitter taste of mortality in his mouth—but not of his own, that of a particular little witch who had carved a place into his undead heart.

With the smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen, he rationalizes it as being muscle memory—from being accustomed to walking through the house door in 1994 and the aroma seemingly clinging to furniture and embedded in the walls.

He feels her before he sees her.

The thrumming of her heart progressively increasing as he approaches the kitchen. He can feel it thumping against his temples as if it's his own.

Then he sees the pancakes.

His first thought is that they look like they're about to burn, and that she better flip them before the smell of burnt batter infects the whole house again. _He_ was the one that made the pancakes. That was the house rule. She would deny it, but he knew she preferred it that way. Damon had always made better pancakes than her anyway.

Then he sees her green eyes raise up to meet his.

The green eyes he had fought tooth and nail to get back. The green eyes that haunted his every dream and waking thought— _Bonnie's_ green eyes.

She stands in an awful, plaid shirt that reeks of the 90s, his shirt no less. And he has an intrusive thought that he'd like to see her wearing his shirts more often.

"Bonnie."

It comes out as a whisper, like he's too scared to speak any louder or the memory of her will disintegrate before his eyes from the force of his breath.

"The one and only," she says.

And it's such a relief to hear her voice Damon feels his knees wobble beneath him. He's too afraid to step forward, to collapse at Bonnie's feet before she even has a chance to say hello.

Instead, he spreads his arms wide. A wordless invitation.

And she's around him. He's _surrounded_ by Bonnie, by her essence and warmth.

He nuzzles his face a little further into her neck that he manages to get hair in his mouth, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Oh, you made it!" _I made it,_ he almost says, _through the torture of not having you around and being a pain in my ass._

And they stay there wrapped around each other for a while. Damon swaying them both, leaning back on his heels and forward again.

Her legs unwrap from his waist and she plops down to the floor with a laugh. Damon is reluctant having her any farther than arm's length, however, and cups her face in his hands.

"Don't ever leave me again," he gasps, crashing his lips against hers before he can think twice about it.

Nothing fancy, just a kiss. A reassurance that Bonnie was _here,_ and she was _alive._

Damon pulls back to meet her eyes, to gauge her reaction, checking to see if he crossed a line.

Her green eyes are wide with shock, and her mouth is open in an attempt to catch her breath.

"C'mon Bon," he murmurs, his thumb sliding over her cheekbone, "Don't pretend like that never happened in 1994."

Fortunately, he doesn't even get the chance to give her his smirk, because her mouth is back on his again.

* * *

 **A/N** : If you've gotten this far, thanks so much for reading! Follow/fav, review, tell me what you liked (or disliked) it keeps me going:)  
You can also message me (anonymously or not) on my tumblr: vlvetmornings, if you feel so inclined. Much love x.


	2. Faith is the substance

The one where Bonnie links her life to Damon's and Elena's not having it.

* * *

They didn't know what would happen if one of them died in 1994. Maybe a death beyond death. Hell, maybe even peace.

Bonnie wasn't willing to take that chance.

She moved to reposition Damon's head in her lap, heavier now somehow. Different than all the times he had annoyingly laid across her, arm slung across his face and pretending to snore. His mouth dangerously close to the space between her legs.

Her body would always still, afraid to ruin the moment of this newfound comfort. Physical affection was so unlike them. Casual closeness even stranger. His body was as light as a wisp of smoke then.

 _Now_ though, it was heavier than she ever remembered.

How can a body be heavier without the soul that holds it all together?

She begins to recite a spell. It was an old one. She had commit it to memory when she was desperate and grieving for her Grams. It was an insurance plan, a last resort, because she swore she would never lose another loved one again.

Up until that point, however, she had always been too late. She was too late to save her father, and too late to save her mother's humanity.

Bonnie never would've guessed that she would use this type of magic to save _Damon Salvatore_ of all people,

That he would comfortably lay in the slot under "Loved Ones" in Bonnie's mind.

Once upon a time, she had threatened his life—now she was saving it.

192 days in the prison world and she still hadn't gotten her magic back. It felt like when you lose your voice screaming at a concert. You know it's there, but you just can't will it to work quite right.

Or perhaps she had truly and completely lost her magic, and she was just mumbling nonsense into Damon's hair. If anyone could see her now they'd think she was losing her damn mind.

But that was just it, _no one_ could see her now. No one was there except her and Damon. And maybe it was selfish, but for once she wanted to keep it that way.

Minutes or hours tick by in that cave, Bonnie wasn't sure. She was beginning to lose the concept of time. Or maybe she had long ago, when eclipses had become her only source of reference. When the only other face she knew was Damon's. Her touchstone. Her constant.

But in the dark recesses of the cave, the only constant became the drops of blood that dripped out of her nose and inevitably onto Damon's shirt from the exertion of her magic. Along with it, clearer drops—tears.

She wills him to come back to life, to lean over and peer open those annoyingly blue eyes of his just one more time.

It was her fault they were in this mess to begin with. Her fault Damon was lying dead in her arms. She had convinced him she had found a way out of 1994—channel the energy of the eclipse and they would go home.

Except it hadn't worked. The Ascendant had channeled his life, or lack thereof. Leaving him with nothing and leaving her in the process.

They were no closer to getting home than before, and even if she was Bonnie has a sharp realization that she wouldn't want to go without him. She wonders if the tug at the back of her heart are remnants of magic, or if its grief beginning to make a home for itself there.

Damon _finally_ coughs awake, jerking forward in Bonnie's lap. His chest stuttering and heaving. Bonnie croaks out a laugh, ripping through her throat painfully.

She buries her face in the 90's flannel covering his chest—waiting, albeit hopelessly, for his heart to stutter to life. Nothing.

Bonnie hopes to God he doesn't nudge her off his chest, questioning mere seconds after his resurrection what the hell she was doing. She couldn't even fathom the size his ego would inflate to upon realizing she was crying over him—she would never live it down.

But it's in knowing this, that she actually gets the courage to crane her head up, tear-streaked and all. Because if there's anyone in the world that she wants to tease her right now and forever, it's Damon Salvatore.

Damon looks over at her, squinting like he's only just woken up from a nap, "Are you crying, Bon?"

She clears her throat, chin rising defensively, "I drained a lot of energy bringing you back from the dead, the least you could do is—"

"You're _crying_ over me, Bonnie Bennett," he grins, shifting to sit up—too fast. He immediately slumps back down, tilting his head back and groaning. "Who knew coming back to life was so exhausting. How do you do it all the time?"

Bonnie snorts and sniffles. "You get used to it."

That's when a flash of white light overtakes her.

* * *

 **Seven days before the Resurrection. 1994. Grocery Store.**

Damon and Bonnie had been arguing about…something. She couldn't bring herself to remember now, not in the state that he was in.

His hair was damp from the array of liquids that had spilled everywhere, wisps of it falling in front of his eyes. In any other moment perhaps Bonnie would've admired it, the way the contrast of his dark hair made his eyes appear that much more blue. But he was groaning now and too weak to move because a wooden stick had been driven into his chest, barely missing his heart.

"Bonnie," Damon whispers, "I know I'm devastingly gorgeous, even on the brink of death. But can we do a little less staring and little more helping?"

"Asshole," Bonnie quips, biting her lip. She had been caught, "Maybe I should just leave it there, let it finish the job for me." Even with likely a damaged lung, Damon persists till his last breath—messing with her and just as conceited as ever.

Damon grins his devil-may-care grin, "You wouldn't dare."

Bonnie's hands wrap around the make-shift stake in his chest, adjusting herself into a rather compromising position. She is, essentially, straddling him as he lay on the floor, back pushed up against one of the shelves of the grocery store that has now been destroyed. It's many contents in disarray all over the aluminum floor.

Damon groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head in pain. His lack of inappropriate remarks about her current position causes her to act just a little bit faster.

The predicament they were in had only occurred because Bonnie's tiny form hadn't been able to reach the top shelf for the laundry detergent. She had nearly teetered over the edge as she balanced on the foot railing of the shopping cart, in an attempt to gain a few inches to reach the detergent. Damon had insulted her, as per usual, leaning against the shelves smugly as he made no move to assist her. It was infuriating.

She had wished horrible things on him in that moment.

The shopping cart underneath her went a-wire, however, crashing into her and the shelves. Causing her to come crashing to the ground.

In the chaos, laundry products galore, she almost broke into a laugh until Damon slumping down on the floor in pain cut her off short.

She yanks the stake out his chest, the inertia of the movement causing her to fling backward. Damon reaches forward in time to steady her with his hands on her hips.

She quickly pushes away the thought of how that would feel in another scenario.

"Thank you," he manages, still clearly out of breath from the gaping wound in his chest—healing now.

His eyes skid across her face as if searching for an answer there.

Bonnie conjures up the most malicious one she can think of.

"Just wanted to extend your torture in this hell a little longer along with me."

But it's the along with me she knew would be the words to stay in his mind.

* * *

 **Four days before the Resurrection. 1994. Salvatore Boarding House.**

He throws a Monopoly piece at her—one of the red houses, with its sharp edges and sharper corners.

She gasps as it bounces off her cheekbone, barely missing her eye.

"How dare you!" She grabs the shoe player Monopoly piece, chucking it in his direction. But Bonnie only has a chance to see the flash of his grin as he vamp speeds and dodges it, laughing.

"How did I just _know_ you were going for the shoe," he says. Damon slaps his hand down hard on top of hers on the kitchen table as she reaches for another piece, "Obviously the dog makes more sense, I mean one of its legs alone could take out an eye."

"Maybe I don't want to take out your eye," Another resounding slap. Damon traps her other hand under his, "Maybe I want to take out your heart."

Damon hums, tilting his head smugly, "You weren't saying that the other day when you saved my life."

"Clearly that was a mistake," she huffs, ripping her hands out from under his. The contact made her shudder, but she was not ready to dig into that. She's been in this prison world too long. Sexless and touch-starved.

It didn't help that she knew how the light of the eclipse bounced and refracted on his features. Or just how much his pupils dilated in the dim light of the boarding house.

"You're staring," he says, matter-of-factly.

"Nuh-uh," she denies. "It's in your head."

Damon nods, " _Or_ you're in love with me."

"We've been in here for a while, Damon," Bonnie continues, "The dementia has finally kicked in," She leans back in her chair, flipping through her Monopoly money dramatically. Like she's some mobster flaunting his cash. "Your age is catching up to you, grandpa."

"No, it's not just that…" he shakes his head, unenthused by her joke, "Something's changed, ever since you saved my life." His tone was surprisingly serious. A moment of sincerity among the absurdity. It made Bonnie's teeth grind.

Bonnie hums, "Well, you're technically still dead."

" _Un_ dead," he corrects.

"And what would you call an undead vampire in a 1994 limbo? I'd say dead."

Damon takes a deep breath, and something tugs at her mind. Doubt.

* * *

 **One day** _after_ **the Resurrection. Present day.**

Bonnie doesn't know what did it, but she got them home. Just as she had been reeling from the whiplash of losing Damon and getting him back again, they had been transported back to the real world. The one with other people and 21st century fashion.

 _What the hell_ , Bonnie thinks to herself. Her head pulses from the impact. She will come to find out it came with traveling dimensions.

"You can say that again," Damon groans, from somewhere near her.

"I didn't say anything, Damon," she says, pushing her fingers against her temple to ease the throbbing.

"Could've sworn you did."

"Did you hear something?" She bends her head toward him, her cheek pressing up against the cold, granite floor beneath them, "Did you hear _someone_?"

Their eyes widen in the same moment, both of them rising to their feet in a start. The motion is dizzying, and Bonnie nearly tips over.

Sunlight streams in through the stained-glass windows surrounding them.

They were in the Salvatore Crypt.

"We're _here_ , Bonnie! We did it!" He shakes her by the shoulders and Bonnie almost doubles-over, " _You_ did it."

He begins making his way toward the exit, but Bonnie grabs his wrist, halting him.

Dry blood was encrusted where Damon's split lip used to be. He had gotten it somewhere between dying and not being dead. Bonnie resists the urge to reach forward and swipe it away.

"Wait, Damon! Before we go there's something I have to tell you."

"What could _possibly_ be more important than going to see our family?" Damon asks, crazed from excitement.

The shift within them was dramatic and immediate.

 _I have to tell him. I have to know if he felt it, too._

"There it is again," he says, softer now. "You spoke, but you didn't speak. Your mouth didn't move, but I heard you."

Bonnie nods, knowingly, "It's because that spell I did to resurrect you? It was a lifebond."

* * *

Damon and Bonnie were met with happy tears, four-minute hugs, and a last-minute Homecoming party at the Mystic Grill—but really more of a get together if you ask Damon. Upon entering, there was a banner adorned with "Welcome Home Bonnie!" in big, colorful letters. And in smaller letters in the corner, "(and Damon)." An afterthought.

Damon laughed when he saw it, twirling back toward the exit, declaring "Well, I'm not welcome here!"

 _Play nice_ , Bonnies urges. He rolls his eyes but stays put. There's no malice in the exchange.

They exchange a look and Bonnie knows for the life of them they'll have to explain this to the others soon. They were far too obvious.

Three cheap beers later, and Damon was already exchanging anecdotes from their time in 1994.

"This one snores! SO loud." He wraps her in a one-armed embrace pointing at Bonnie accusingly, "I'm so glad I won't have to suffer through that anymore."

 _I don't really mean that_ , Damon thinks.

 _I know_ , is the reply that rings through his head. _You love my snoring._

He smiles upward at the ceiling, he has no idea how to even begin getting used to that.

Everyone laughs, except Elena. It takes Damon a moment to realize it's because of what that implies.

He can't bring himself to care.

When it had begun to reach toward the end of the night, the only ones left were Damon, Bonnie, Elena, Stefan, and the poor bartender left for the night shift.

They had begun discussing the spell.

Elena fidgets from the corner of Bonnie's eye, she resists the urge to look over at her by fixating on a point over Stefan's head. She can't handle Elena's sad, puppy dog eyes now that Damon isn't all _hers_ anymore.

"You mean to tell me that if anything happens, I lose you both," Elena's bottom lip quivers, a sob threatening to spill over.

 _Here we go_ , Bonnie thinks. Damon chokes back a chuckle, masking it as a cough. Stefan pretends not to notice.

Arms and hands extended, Damon walks into Elena's space. His usual routine when trying to appease her.

"I'm a vampire, and Bonnie's a Bennett witch with a knack for avoiding permanent death. I'd say our odds are pretty good."

Less than 24 hours back in the real world and they were back to old habits.

Elena's hand goes up to touch Damon's, her fingernail carving into his palm.

"Can Bonnie feel that too?" she asks, vehemently.

"It doesn't work that way," Bonnie and Damon say in unison. A beat passes. Nobody moves.

Elena's eyes bounce back and forth between them, bewildered and clearly a little annoyed.

Stefan's voice interjects calmly, ever the voice of reason, "If Bonnie dies, Damon dies and vice versa. What they share is their livelihoods, and at times their thoughts. Depending how strong their connection is, but that's only the theory. I've never seen it in practice."

"Have you guys done it?" Elena asks, tilting her head. It looks almost innocent. But Bonnie knows better. "Shared thoughts?"

There was a time that Bonnie couldn't have even fathomed getting within a 10-foot radius of Damon Salvatore, yet here she was getting asked if their relationship was intimate enough that they had read each other's minds.

No one answers. Which is answer enough.

"It's called a lifebond," Stefan continues, as if he had never paused. His knuckle raps against the table, "You guys are bonded. For life."

* * *

Following the comically tragic Homecoming party Caroline had thrown at the Mystic Grill, Damon and Elena pull up to the boarding house. Alone for the first time since he's arrived from 1994.

"Damon," Elena says. Damon hums as he puts the car in park, ripping the key out of the ignition. "What happened with you and Bonnie at the Grill?"

It was a loaded question. He had the feeling she was referring to more than just the Grill.

He shrugged haphazardly, "It was nothing…"

He doesn't move to open the car door.

A beat passes before Damon continues, smiling, "You know in the prison world she—"

"Stop." Elena interjects.

Damon turns slowly to face her. He knows that tone. She was a ticking timebomb now. "I beg your pardon?"

"Stop talking about her. Ever since you got back all you've been doing is talking about Bonnie!"

He had seen this coming, but for some reason that just angered him more. He blinked, taking a deep breath, attempting to calm the anger brimming at the surface.

"Elena, I spent six months with her. She saved my life, more than once. She's my best friend! And you want me stop?"

"I can't take this anymore! With this whole…" She gestured wildly with her hands, attempting to describe it, but eventually settling for calling it for what it is,"—lifebond, I might as well be dating Bonnie!"

"I'm sorry Elena that my lifebond to Bonnie is such an inconvenience to you," his voice was dripping with so much venom it made Elena wince. Or maybe what made Elena wince was the fact that, for once, a situation wasn't catered to spare her feelings. "You think this is hard for you? How about feeling everything Bonnie is feeling at any given moment in time? Having her thoughts invade my mind with no warning or preamble? I'm constantly talking about Bonnie because she's constantly on my mind—literally! Before it would've been metaphorical, but now…Bonnie is my other half. And if you take one of us, you take both of us."

A beat passes, while Elena stares intensely into Damon's eyes—so intense, that in any other moment, Damon thought his dead heart would've sputtered out of his chest.

"How about neither."

It was bad. It was really bad, because the first emotion that overcame him when the door slammed shut behind her was relief.

* * *

"Stefan, you seem to have a lot of knowledge about all of this so I'm just going to spitball here," Damon was pacing in the boarding house foyer. His gait so large it took only a couple of steps before he reaches the end of the hall and twirls back around again. Stefan hasn't seen his brother this distraught in a long time. It was 1 AM.

"Okay, shoot," Stefan replies, leaning against the wall. His eyes follow Damon as he whizzes past him and back again.

"What if—hypothetically speaking—after the spell, new…feelings occurred that weren't there before. That you're not sure is a result of the isolation, or of the magic."

Damon stops pacing. There's a shift in the air around them. They should've left the boarding house before discussing this. Elena was upstairs, albeit in the guest room and likely sleeping. But Stefan is reminded of the connection Bonnie and Damon share and knows there was no escaping this.

He chooses his next words carefully.

"Well…magic no matter how powerful, can't create new feelings. It can only expand them. Like vampirism, it only amplifies what's already there," he explains, "It's likely these... feelings aren't a new manifestation. You're just now realizing it."

Damon nods with finality. And Stefan can't tell whether that's a good thing.

Half an hour and half a bottle of bourbon later, Damon sees Bonnie's name flash across his phone screen for the umpteenth time and finally gives in.

"Hello," he chirps. Bonnie wasn't having it.

"What's wrong?"

"Elena and I broke up."

"Oh, Damon I…" her voice is heavy with sympathy he didn't deserve, and she must've known it. He wasn't anywhere near as devastated as he expected himself to be.

"It's fine. It's really fine, really." He didn't know how to phrase the next words exactly, how to skid the fine line between a booty call and just a friendly sleepover. "Can you come home?"

The boarding house had been where they had stayed back in 1994. Saying 'home' made sense in that respect. Damon wasn't even fooling himself, though. He knew what he had meant.

 _Home was Bonnie right there beside him._

And there was a deafening silence before Bonnie finally answered, "On my way."

* * *

 **A/N** : If you've gotten this far, thanks so much for reading!

Let me know what you think! Follow/fav, review, tell me what you liked (or disliked).

My bamon tumblr is: vlvetmornings. Much love x.


	3. Innocence and arrogance entwined

The one where Bonnie and Damon are cops and Bonnie's feelings are anything but professional.

* * *

His eyes lit up, a smirk threatening to take form on his lips.

That look usually came in times of distress. In the middle of a night shift and a case that seemed to have no end in sight. Bonnie would raise her head from where it was lay uncomfortably on her desk, tired and defeated. Damon's signature blue eyes would lose its bleary, sleepy haze and snap up to meet hers.

It took only a short while after he was assigned as her partner to realize: the higher the stakes and the worse the pressure, the more he thrived on it.

It was a fascinating and incredibly concerning thing to watch. Eventually it turned into a game: see how much pressure he could take before he cracked.

He never did.

* * *

 **Mystic Falls Morgue, 4:22PM**

Damon's hand shifts from within the pocket of his leather jacket. Fiddling with his Zippo lighter, Bonnie knew. It was a habit she's never understood. He didn't own a pack of cigarettes and yet he carried the lighter with a devotion only a smoker would have.

Damon turns, catching her staring. His lips pull up at one corner and he winks, but it feels hollow.

His features quickly drop back into their original thoughtful state.

The air conditioning bites at the back of her neck, and she has to readjust her collar to hide the gooseflesh that surfaces.

Despite having been in plenty morgues during the span of her career, each time she entered one her every nerve was on edge.

It wasn't just the literal coldness, but the emotional one. The detachment of all things feeling.

"…found at 1400 hours. Victim is 5 foot 11, male, auburn hair. Cause of death: stab wounds to the chest. Further examination is required. No known suspects as of yet."

"Stabbing," Bonnie breathes. She had always fantasized solving cases like this when she was younger, but with the body of the victim laid before her she felt bile rising in her throat.

"This is personal," Damon says, finishing her thought.

Elena Gilbert glances up at the detectives, no longer reading from her file, "I found fingerprints on the murder weapon that need to be processed. That should give us our suspect."

Damon gives her a curt nod and it knocks Bonnie out of her reverie. Corpse or no corpse, Damon _always_ flirted with the medical examiner. It was the one thing that distracted Bonnie from the fact that she was surrounded by death.

This felt foreign, and neither Bonnie nor Elena knew what to make of it.

The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, normally filled with Damon's unabashed flirting and Elena's giggly responses.

"Thank you, Dr. Gilbert. We'll get out of your hair now," Bonnie was already heading toward the door, "And please let us know when the DNA results come back," She gives the other girl a good-natured smile, except it doesn't matter. Elena's brown eyes are trained on Damon—who is looking at anything but her.

"Will do, detective."

Once they're out of the building and headed toward Damon's Camaro, Bonnie addresses it.

"Have you finally dropped your Johnny Bravo façade or are you having a stroke?"

Damon's eyebrows shoot upward at the moniker and he starts the car—revving the engine slightly more than necessary.

"First of all. Don't nickname, that's my thing. Second of all, are you jealous, Bennett?"

Bonnie scoffs, leaving the question unanswered. She couldn't be. She wasn't.

Damon continues, "I'm surprised you're not more concerned for my well-being, she could have a necrophilia kink," he pushes his hand against his chest, likely over his non-existent heart, Bonnie thinks.

"Then you're perfect for her. You're dead inside," she replies, impassively.

Damon smiles easily in response, making her wonder why she was ever worried in the first place—in her own way. As much as one can be worried for Damon Salvatore.

* * *

 **Bonnie Bennett's Apartment, Unit 303, 9:13PM**

That night, Bonnie opens her door to find a jaded Damon Salvatore leaning against her doorframe, an overnight bag slung across his shoulder.

With no greeting, Bonnie swings the door wider, inquiring "What is it this time?"

This was routine. Damon would come over if he couldn't sleep, if he didn't make rent, or if a one-night stand just wouldn't leave his apartment.

"My neighbor's yorkie won't stop yapping its fucking head off," He says, pulling the bag of his shoulder and entering the apartment. Bonnie can't recall ever hearing a dog in Damon's complex, but she doesn't question it.

"Sofa bed?" Damon teases. It was rhetorical. He wasn't sleeping on the sofa bed. It usually didn't take much from Damon to convince Bonnie to let him sleep in her queen-sized bed with her. For once, they stop pretending like the sofa bed was ever an option.  
"Sofa bed," Bonnie replies, smiling.

* * *

 _She reaches out to stroke Damon's cheek, but her touch is met with cold. It takes her a moment to recognize it, but his skin feels like china._

 _From the point she makes contact, his porcelain skin begins splintering beneath her fingertips. The cracks begin to spread across his face._

 _She attempts to retract her hand to avoid making any more damage. Instead, his frame shatters before her—till all that is left is shards of what once was Damon Salvatore at her feet._

Damon shakes her awake, eyes blood-shot and groggy, "Bon…Bon, wake up."

She awakens with a sharp intake of breath, eyelids stuttering, "Damon? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" He repeats, incredulous. "You were screaming."

His chest is heaving as if he had been the one screaming. He's crouched on the floor, leaning over the edge of the bed to meet her at eye-level from where she lay.

"Bad dream," she states, matter-of-factly.

He raises his eyebrows, unamused.

"Those weren't nightmare screams, Bonnie Bennett. I thought you were dying."

She puts her hand on his chest, fingers splayed and applies pressure. But she doesn't do it with the intention of pushing him away.

His heart is beating hard and fast under her fingertips.

"Weird," she says, her tone playful, "There _is_ something under there." All the tension is released from his body and he lets out a weak chuckle. "I'm sorry I worried you, Salvatore. But it's good to know you care."

Damon places his own hand over hers on his chest, sliding his thumb over her knuckles, "Perhaps a little too much."

He leans in and Bonnie thinks for a moment too long that he's going to kiss her.

His hair is mussed from sleep, and he smells faintly of cologne that it makes her head spin.

He drops a quick kiss on her forehead and pulls away.

Bonnie clears her throat and smiles up at him, trying to ignore the wave of disappointment that washes over her.

The dream left her unable to negate the fear that had begun to burn at the back of her mind.

It seemed there were two possible scenarios for what was about to occur: either they crack this case, or it might just crack Damon.

* * *

 **Bonnie Bennett's Apartment, Unit 303, 4:55AM**

Bonnie wakes in a start, but this time Damon isn't by her side to remind her it was just a dream.

This time—it's a living nightmare.

"…anything that you say or do can and will be used against you. You have a right to an attorney…"

"What the hell is happening?"

"Don't you see, Bonnie? They finally made my striking good-looks illegal."

A uniformed cop is holding Damon's wrists behind his back, the cop reaches around to grab her handcuffs and arrest him. Damon lets her.

Sergeant Caroline Forbes speaks up from behind her, "He's being detained. We found his fingerprints on the murder weapon."

* * *

 **Crime scene, 2 years ago, 4:05PM**

She crouches down to the floor. Her knees make a quick crackle as they go down. The pool of blood the body left seems wrong. Unnatural. Darker than it should've been. She looks over at Damon, a breath away from her face.

There were in the home of a person suspected to be the serial killer that has plagued Mystic Falls for months—Malachai Parker. He was most commonly referred to as "The Ascendant." The reasons for that escaped her now, something about witch-cult nonsense. She's never understood the Mystic Falls civilian obsession with revering and even worshipping the killers that came into this town.

She had a bad feeling in the pit of her gut.

 _Be on the lookout for a six-foot tall Caucasian male—brown hair, blue eyes_. Malachai Parker. Our prime suspect.

Someone must've tipped him off that the police were on his trail though because he cleared out most of his belongings from his house before they managed to arrive.

Everything but the blood pooled at Bonnie's feet.

That bad feeling sank lower and nestled there.

"It doesn't make sense," Bonnie hears herself say.

"Right?" Damon says from beside her, "It can't be the blood of one of his victims. Why would he implicate himself like that?"

Bonnie nods, but that wasn't what she meant.

She steps outside. She needs to stretch her legs and clear her head. She rounds the corner till she's past the point she can see the crime scene—past the noises of crime scene investigators and police car lights.

She walks till she's surrounded by only green grass and picket fences. Not the type of neighborhood you would expect to house a serial killer. But then again, no type of neighborhood should house a serial killer.

The edge of her thumb taps against the cigarette pack in her back pocket. She was itching to grab one. Though she had been clean for weeks, she kept it on her as a safety measure when the stress of the job got too much. She realizes now she's fallible. She should've thrown them away when she got the chance.

Despite her internal protestations, Bonnie slides the pack out of her pocket and flips it open.

She didn't have a lighter, though. She knew she never had to carry one because Damon always had one on him. She's about to head back inside—ask him, but she stops in her tracks when she spots a man down the street.

He's just standing there. Across the intersection staring off into the distance. At _her_ , she realizes.

"Hey!" She shouts, shielding her eyes from the sun so she can peer at him better. It takes too long for her to realize he matches the description.

 _Impossible_ , she thinks. _What are the odds? What serial killer would be stupid enough to show up at the house the police are tearing apart?_

 _That's exactly why you would_ , she thinks. _Because it's the last thing anyone would expect._

He begins sprinting at her then, and the light of the sun glints against something in his hand. She reaches toward the gun on her hip on reflex. All sweat and blood-pulsing instinct now. Animalistic.

He's faster than her though, he whips forward and knocks the gun out of her hand with the flick of his wrist. A dagger pushes up and presses between the space between her neck and her chin.

"Don't move," he whispers. And that's when she sees his crystal, blue eyes peer up at her then. Malachai Parker.

He was beautiful. She can appreciate that much. She thinks this might not be such a horrible way to die if _this_ was the last face she saw.

Her spine presses up against something cold and hard—a light post, and he keeps her pinned there.

She weighs her options. She can either reach for her taser and risk death, or wrap her hands around his wrist to buffer the space between his dagger and her jugular. She settles on _not_ death.

"Listen... Malachai," she manages, feeling the curve of the blade push further into the skin of her neck on every inhale.

"I think we've become acquainted enough that you can call me Kai… _Bonnie_ ," he whispers gravelly. His breathe fans across her lips and she stifles a shiver.

He was so close she saw nothing but his face and the light of the sun forming a halo around the edges of his hair.

The fingers of his left-hand stay wrapped around her neck and he pulls away the dagger.

"You know, Bonnie? I think we're connected, you and me," he swings the dagger in his hand between them with the casualness someone else would have with a pen. He was disturbingly nonchalant.

"How's that?" Bonnie asks.

"Magically," he states. The dagger is back on her again.

"Magic?" Bonnie says, nearly scoffing.

"Why yes, of course."

"You're crazy," she breathes, closing her eyes as pain flares on her neck. The blade has finally pierced her skin, she can feel her collarbone get wet with her blood.

"Careful with your words, Bonnie. They hurt."

"Like you hurt those children?"

"Those weren't children," he says, with a shake of his head, "Those were my competition." He states it like it's obvious, like there's no other possible explanation.

"Competition?" Bonnie repeats, incredulous, "Competition for what?"

"For the throne."

Bonnie doesn't have a chance to ask what he means by that because she's spinning. Kai presses her back to him as they turn to face Damon, his gun cocked and pointed at them.

"Hands up and let her go, pervert," Damon spits. He's angry like Bonnie has never seen. He's usually steady and calm as ever in these situations, but now his guns shakes with the effort of holding it up.

"If I did, what would be my leverage?" Kai asks, pressing his dagger further into her as emphasis.

"Get out of here, Damon," Bonnie says, trying to keep her voice level. _Get to safety_ , she thinks. _Get help. But get out of here._

"Let her go!" Damon yells through gritted teeth, ignoring her and stepping forward.

"Ah-ah-ah," Kai says, like he's scolding a child. "Don't take another step. I'll kill her if you're not careful."

"I'll kill _you_ , if you're not," Damon replies.

"That won't matter, I'm already dead," Kai moves like he's about to lunge.

At that, there's a bang and a ringing in her ear. She's released, and she drops down to the floor on all fours, gasping for air. She twists backward to see Kai falling to his knees, a gaping hole from a bullet blooming with blood on his head.

She chokes back a sob.

Damon is at her side then, rubbing her arms with both hands like she's only shivering because she's cold.

"Thank you," she manages, her hand wrapping around her wound on her neck. She can feel the heat of him—the ghost of Kai's skin there. She ignores it. "But next time... be more careful, Damon." Bonnie says, finally ripping her eyes away from Kai's body on the floor and turning toward Damon.

"You worried about _me_ , Bennett?" Damon pants, his eyes are sparkling, and Bonnie won't ask if it's from tears.

He looks drained, like the stress alone has depleted him of all his energy. He still, somehow, makes the effort to smirk at her.

"I care about you, idiot," Bonnie states, matter-of-factly. Near death situations have a knack for putting things into perspective. And Bonnie knows now she doesn't want to leave Damon's side. Ever.

His smirk grows into a grin.

"I know."

* * *

 **Mystic Falls Precinct, Present day, 6:38AM**

It was something she had always gotten into the habit of doing. Maybe if she stared at the suspect long enough their skulls would crack open and spill out the answers she was looking for.

With Damon, it was different. The clear, blue eyes that burned through the glass and met hers were not unfamiliar. They weren't eyes of a stranger, a face that blended easily into the many of Mystic Falls.

She finally gets the courage to reach over to the edge of the two-way mirror and flip the switch, letting the sound of the other room spill into this one. But all she hears is Damon's voice loud and clear, _I need to speak to Bonnie._

His eyes are so bright, it looks like he wouldn't need his lighter to set the world ablaze.

"Bonnie Bennett? Your partner, right?" The detective crosses his legs. He's playing it unaffected. All that's missing is a cigarette dangling from his lips. "Strange lot, the two of you. You're lucky she isn't being arrested as an accomplice."

Damon leans forward in his seat, making the legs of the chair screech against the aluminum floor.

"Let me speak to Bonnie or I call lawyer."

"You'll call lawyer whether I let you speak to Bonnie or not."

"You really think you're good at this, don't you?" Damon hisses, "I've sat on the other side of this table before, you know. I know this game better than you do."

Damon rattles his handcuffs as emphasis. The sound makes Bonnie wince. She needs to get out of here.

Despite the Sheriff's insistence to bench Bonnie and take a break, she takes up the first simple and mindless case she can find.

Her partner—her _best friend_ has just been arrested and framed for a murder. The last thing she needed to do was shatter any remaining sense of normalcy by taking a break from work.

It was a simple drug bust. So excruciatingly low-profile a beat cop could do it. But she needed this collar. A win, if only a small one, today.

She pulls out of the precinct with Lorenzo St. John in tow, her stand-in partner for the time being. The same detective that had questioned Damon. _Until Damon's charges are dropped_ , she had urged to him, when they were assigned together. He had raised his eyebrows, not seeming convinced, but didn't challenge her.

"You take up the front, I'll take the rear," she told him when they arrived at the perp's apartment building. She was not up for debating, the ride here alone contained little to no conversation.

She walks to the back and carefully opens the backdoor to the complex, careful not to announce her presence. She bounds up the steps till she reaches the third floor. The perp's apartment in question was at the end of the hall, she was only here as a safety measure in case he made a run for it through the back. She stands there and waits.

Despite the state of the building, falling apart at the seams, it had a beautiful view from up here. The hallway balcony overlooked a field, miles of grass.

She spots the end of the clearing and imagines Malachai Parker's body falling limp on the concrete like it did all those years ago. The image changes now and its Damon instead, lying crippled on the floor—limbs bent in odd angles and the light gone from his eyes. Dead.

Bonnie readjusts her grip on the gun—tighter.

She's being ridiculous, she thinks. Nothing's there, _no one_ is there.

She shoves her gun back into its holster.

It's a moment—a _second_ —but clearly one too many. Bonnie let's her guard down. A hand clamps around her mouth yanking her backward and propelling her into darkness. Her hands are free and unbound, however. She blindly scours her body attempting to locate her gun, her taser, anything.

That is until a light turns on overhead to reveal bright, blue eyes staring back at her.

Her scream dies in her throat.

Damon Salvatore stares back—standing in the flesh before her.

She's too shocked to speak.

His thumb sweeps over the curve of her cheekbone and he leans forward to close the space between them, kissing her with the full weight of his body.

It was a promise, Bonnie knew. A promise that beyond this there could be more. When the chaos is over, and the charges are dropped.

And maybe that was enough.

* * *

 **A/N** : If you've gotten this far, thanks so much for reading!

Let me know what you think! Follow/fav, review, tell me what you liked (or disliked).

My bamon tumblr is: vlvetmornings. Much love x.


	4. Exhale once and think twice

The one where Bonnie's in the hospital and Damon rushes to her aid.

* * *

 _It's Bonnie, leave me a message._

"Bon…please pick up," Damon whispers so low his vampire hearing barely picks up the sound reverberating from his chest. He leans his head against the steering wheel of the Camaro, and the car begins beeping sporadically. He rips the key out of the ignition.

He's ready to throw his phone out the window but settles for throwing it in the passenger seat. It bounces off the leather, and slides to the ground. _Useless piece of crap_ , Damon thinks. If Bonnie wasn't going to answer her phone, what was the point of having one in the first place?

That's when it starts ringing.

He scrambles for the device on the floor, not checking the caller ID before answering.

"Listen here Bennett witch, you better have goddamn good excuse for not answering your phone because I—"

A very un-Bonnie-like voice clips through the other end, "Mr. Salvatore?"

Damon straightens in his seat, "Who's this?"

"Mr. Salvatore, I'm Nurse Stewart at Mystic Falls Hospital. Bonnie Bennett's been admitted as a patient. I'm informing you because you're listed as her emergency contact."

"I am?" he whispers, more to himself, "I mean, yes I am. Of course, I am." He inserts the key back into the ignition, turning the engine over. "I'm on my way."

He arrives barraging through the ER, a valet boy pestering him that _he's not allowed to park there, sir._

"For your troubles," he states simply, sliding a fifty into the valet boy's shirt pocket. That should shut him up.

He begins speed-walking through the halls. It takes everything in him not to sprint—hell, not to vamp-speed until he's burned through the soles in his shoes and found her. Till he's holding her in his arms and he can drown out the sounds of the nurses and doctors and anyone else that even bothers to think than anything is worth pulling his attention away from _this_ , from the beautiful, petite body that he's holding in his arms and careful not to crush.

Except he's currently _not_ doing that because some lady with pink scrubs and a pixie cut is pestering him about a visitor's badge.

He leans in close over the reception counter till his eyes are level with hers, compelling her, "Listen, I know you're just doing your job, lady. But there's a little witch in there I'm dying to see and you're going to let me do that. So, type up on your computer whatever you need to, I'm going to walk past you, and you're going to pretend not to notice, alright?" Her pupils snap back to normal size, and she nods enthusiastically, "Atta girl."

He finally finds her, with a grin the size of a planet and a hug that lasts longer than necessary—till Bonnie complains about her IV pinching her.

Their moment alone is shattered quickly when a nurse interrupts to tell them she's being discharged, unhooking Bonnie from several beeping machines.

"Aren't you supposed to be wearing a visitor's badge?" Bonnie asks once the nurse leaves, breathless and cheeks rosier than should be allowed.

"Are you hospital security?"

Her eyes fall into slits, "Damon, how many people did you kill to get in here?"

"Not many!" When she opens her mouth to protest, he corrects, "Not one!"

She actually relents, her mouth finally pulling up at the corners. But not before she leans forward and checks him with her bag.

"Ow!" he protests, though more to tease her.

She leans in further.

Impossibly, she doesn't smell like hospital—antiseptic and cold. Instead, she smells of Bonnie. Of magic and the leftover scent of glitter and God.

"Thank you…for today," Bonnie whispers, wrapping her arms around his waist. Damon doesn't have a chance to hug her back before she's tiptoeing, her lips pressing against his cheek—and then it's over.

She walks around him to finish grabbing her belongings, but Damon manages to trap her hand in his as she moves.

She spins back around with the motion, and he turns as well until they're face-to-face.

He has to crouch so he can cup her face and appreciate the warmth of her skin under his thumbs. His lips press softly under the farthest part of her skin his thumbs can reach, and further down, until it reaches her lips. Until the smell and taste of Bonnie is the only thing he's ever known.

* * *

 **A/N:** If you've gotten this far, thanks so much for reading!

Let me know what you think! Follow/fav, review, tell me what you liked (or disliked).  
My bamon tumblr is: vlvetmornings. Much love x.


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